Breaking the Habit
by Vaskjuil
Summary: Squall's emotions rise within him and overwhelm him, forcing him to revert to his old self destructive habits. Deathfic, songfic: Breaking the habit-Linkin Park


Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything FF8 related rightfully belongs to the pink fluffy bunnies, so please give them their due. 'Breaking the Habit' is a song sung by Linkin Park. I assume they also own it. shrug Then again, I also assumed that O.J. was guilty, so don't quote me on anything.

Warnings: This product should not be used in conjunction with any prescription medicine, or by those who are pregnant or nursing. This product can cause evil visions of yellow care bears, and if swallowed, puke it back up or call a Poison Control . . . oh, wrong product. Here: Mentions of cutting by sharp object, deathfic, mild language.

I stare at the cover of a book I picked up at random, not really noticing the title or cover art. My life, my memories, run through my head, slamming into each other, so thick I can hardly distinguish between them. All I can really discern from them are emotions: anger, fear, hatred. The emotions consume me, just like my memories consume me. Going through my life, thinking about everything I've ever done, is just like opening a wound. I'm picking me apart again.

What really digs at me is that I can't remember a single time I've been in control of myself. I've made decisions, obviously, but ultimately they're always for the good of someone else. Never once have I made a decision that was selfishly for me. Instead I do what I'm told, just like a good little soldier. I'm so fucking tired of being the one that battles always choose. Everyone thinks I'm some sort of hero that is supposed to know everything, but when I look into myself I realize that I'm the one confused. To be honest, I don't know shit. Sad to think I could care less about that.

I don't know what's worth fighting for anymore, sometimes I think I never did. Obviously I'm not worth fighting for. Everybody expects me to save their ass, save the world, save, save, save. It's kind of redundant, really. I mean, not once has anybody put their ass on the line and saved me. Everyone thinks I'm so stoic and unbreakable; it makes me want to scream. But then, thinking about it, I don't know why I ought to scream. So, in effect, I might as well keep quiet.

For some reason Seifer crosses my mind, and immediately my teeth grind. I hate that bastard more than any of the others. I always manage to lose myself around him, and he knows just how to get under my skin. Fighting him was the only thing that ever got me peace of mind. On occasion I would instigate, but I don't know why I did that either. I don't know why I couldn't just say what I meant around him, but then again, I never could say what I meant around anyone, it was just worse when I was with him.

I relive my entire store of memories concerning him in the space of about five seconds, and am left feeling cold, empty, and vaguely broken. Those emotions, together with those that are already within me, set me over the edge. I slam the book down on the padded floor, not hearing the slight _whumph _noise it makes on contact. Crossing to the door in my bare feet, I stand as high as I can and stare out the small unbreakable glass window. Nobody is in the hallway, most likely imagining that I would be asleep at this late hour. Idiots.

I drop back down, feeling shorter than normal without my boots, and go to the back wall, which like the rest of the room is covered in white padded tiles. They put me in here roughly a week ago after finding me by Lionheart with slit wrists. They all assumed I would be safe here in this room. Assholes. They wouldn't even let me be in control of my death. They called it a 'self destructive habit', and told me I had to stay here until I was more stable. Whatever. I'll cut myself if I want to fucking cut myself, and I'd like to see them stop me.

I count the tiles, three from the side and two from the bottom, and then begin making a small hole in the padding. It's cotton, covered in thick leather, and I have to use my teeth to begin a small hole an inch or so from the bottom. When the main incision is established I use my fingers to widen it, pulling cotton out as I go. Soon I have a hole big enough to get two fingers through. Inserting my index and middle finger, I feel around until I find a small hook. I latch a finger on it and pull until I feel it give and hear a small click. I then release the hook and pull out my fingers, rubbing them gently to get the circulation working properly again. A quick trip back to the window to make sure no one is there, and then I continue. First I stuff the cotton back into the hole as best I can, and then I feel along the bottom of the second padded row under the one with the hook and, feeling the ridge, lift up. Nine of the tiles come up, revealing a space wide enough for me to slip my body through. Before this room became a padded room it was used as Cid's first office, and this trap door was an escape route hidden behind a tapestry. When it was converted to its padded status, the worker took care not to block up the passageway, and just put tiles over the door to hide it. That worker was me, and as I ease into the passageway I thank all the God's I know that my love of secret things prevented me from blocking it all those years ago. I shut the door behind me. Even if someone notices I'm gone, the position of the tile and the hole should keep my way out from being discovered for some time, maybe minutes, more likely an hour.

The passage is incredibly cramped, seeing as to how it was built for Cid when he was much younger and much, much trimmer. For once I thank my slender form and relatively short height, not that it will matter in a few hours. For once I wish I was even smaller, so that I wouldn't be quite so constricted. But, looking at it from a perspective of life and death, I guess beggars really can't be choosers.

The passage comes to an abrupt halt, with a drop of about four feet, and I'm thankful also that I'm belly crawling backwards. I ease into the larger space feet first and slowly, and then drop down. I have to feel my way around in the pitch darkness, and discover that I'm standing in a dirt tunnel a little taller than me. If I stretched my arms out the width is about from one elbow to the other. While actually feeling along the walls I come across a cob-webby switch and flick it. I half expect an alarm to sound, and am relieved when it's only lights. I blink my eyes rapidly to save my vision, and then continue my escape.

After a seemingly endless walk, I come up somewhere in a nearby forest. I find a clearing and look at the stars, trying to figure out where I am exactly. When I've memorized my position I start walking, wincing as the occasional twig jams deep into my bare feet despite my best efforts to avoid them. I thank Hyne the moment I'm out of the woods, and then I run stealthily towards the highly visible garden. I climb the gate quickly, and then hide in the nearby shrubbery until I can be sure that no one saw me. All of a sudden I'm struck by the irony of breaking back into the very place I just broke out of. Unfortunately, if I get caught, I doubt others would appreciate the feeling quite as much.

I'm just lucky that it's three in the morning, and normal people are asleep. Just in case, though, I don't walk in the hallways to the dormitories; I slip into the water and swim, nearly touching the bottom to make sure I'm not spotted. I still don't know why the water is here, but I do know how thankful I am that it is. I climb out using the small ladder installed on the side for emergency situations, and scuff my feet on the leg of the hospital clothes I'm wearing in order to prevent me from slipping on the slick tile floor. I crouch low and run silently along the hallway, staying in the shadows as much as possible. I receive a slight scare as I think I see a person, but it just turns out to be a garbage can with an odd object sticking out of it. I feel immensely relieved, but can't take the time to dwell on it. Someone has to notice me missing sooner or later.

I bypass my dorm and run towards Seifers, the asshole probably fast asleep. It's a simple matter of springing his lock and slipping in; the man never was issued an electronic code device. I hear him move in his sleep, but it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust well enough to see. He's on his back, mouth slightly open, obviously deep asleep. Not that it matters, because I didn't come for him. Instead I reach over him onto the bedside shelf and grab Hyperion. This blade will have to do, considering Lionheart is locked up in Cid's new office. If I'm going to die, I want it to be by a blade with honor, and Hyperion is pretty damn honorable, after all is said and done. I carefully hold it well above Seifer, the three foot piece of metal being exactly as heavy as I imagined. When it's clear, I press it to my chest, and steal away. I don't bother locking Seifer's door. I almost wish I would be alive to see his reaction to finding his blade missing, alive to fight him in his absolute fury. Hn, I also wish for a gold toilet seat, but that probably won't happen either.

Swimming to the training center is a hell of a lot more difficult than swimming to the dormitories was, considering the dead weight of Hyperion, and its sharp edge. By the time I'm out of the water I have half a dozen small cuts covering my legs and one bigger one on my forearm. I set the blade down and strip off my shirt. If there's anyone in the training center they should now mistake me for another visitor in the semi darkness. I pick up Hyperion and carry it into the center, where a late night trainer grunts a greeting at my form. I reply in kind, the person being too new to recognize my voice or Seifer's weapon. In a way I'm glad, because if he had recognized me I would have killed him before he could spread the alarm. Might as well take a couple with me.

Under the water, under the bridge, there is another passageway that I discovered in my second visit to the center. The only other person who knows it exists is Seifer, because he was my partner when I found it. He had pushed me into the water, where I noticed the hole and went in to get away from him. Rather than getting in trouble by reporting my absence, he followed me. A glorious fight followed; our blood still stains the ground. Basically the passage leads into a big underground pool with rock ledges. My theory is that it was put here when the flying apparatus was installed in Garden, maybe even sooner. I climb onto one of the ledges- the only one accompanied by a door- and sit for a moment, staring into the water. Emotions from my life still play around my mind, and still I can't find a single good one. With a small sigh I figure that there's no time for the present, and dust myself off as I stand.

Clutching the gunblade to my chest, I tightly lock the door behind me. Without warning my emotions reach a frantic point, and I fall to the floor, breathless. When it passes I realize I've cut myself quite by accident, and savor the pain as I try to catch my breath. When I'm feeling able, I stand, and begin the process. Holding the great blade by the flat side, I drag the edge over my body: my legs, stomach, arms, chest. It hurts so much more than anytime before, but I have no options left again. I even take comfort in the pain.

I stand, blood dripping from every deep stinging cut, with my arms spread apart, Hyperion hanging loosely from my right hand. For some reason, I find myself looking at my surroundings, from where my blood creates dark red spots on the pointless snow white carpet already stained from my battle with Seifer, to the white tiled walls. I think of the other people I know, and then I think about their feelings, hurt and curious as to why I did this. I sneer with disgust at my pathetic worry, and then sigh. I guess it's only fair to leave them some type of note. I don't know what's worth fighting for, or why I have to scream, but now I have some clarity to show them what I mean. For a minute I wonder what to write with, and then smirk.

I drop Hyperion onto the floor, where it lands in a bloody pool with hardly any noise. It's so obvious: I'll paint it on the walls. After all, they deserve to have some insight, because I'm the one at fault. I run my fingers over a few of my deeper cuts, and then begin to write a message. It's perfect: the blood shows up brilliantly against the clear white tile. I stand back and read the words, 'I'll never fight again, and this is how it ends.' It seems to need something more, and I think as hard as I can. Irvine's voice cuts through my mind, the words being 'self destructive habit'. I sneer, and add more words to my message. When done I fall backwards and stare up at what I've written. I can't see it clearly through the blood that's trickling into my eye, but I think it sounds good. I can't feel pain anymore, and I'm so weary. Blood is all around me, my skin is covered in it. For a moment I wonder at the beauty of it, the thick scent. I close my eyes and breath it in, and then I realize how tired I am. I smile at the thought of sleep. Just a quick nap, and everything will all be fine in the morning. The last line of my message runs through my mind, and I voice it quietly one last time before succumbing to the darkness.

"I'm breaking the habit tonight."


End file.
